


What's in a Home?

by OhWormsNice



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Drift pops up once, Gen, Home, Post-War, Song Lyrics, The Transformers: Lost Light, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhWormsNice/pseuds/OhWormsNice
Summary: War is over, but not everyone gets to go home. Some don't even know what home is.Five tired mechs meet in a bar
Relationships: First Aid & Ratchet (Transformers), First Aid & Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	What's in a Home?

_Leaves from the vine_

_Falling so slow_

Blaster fire everywhere.

No escape, no, no, that would mean desertion. 

That wasn't such a bad idea right now. 

_too many dead_

_so many dead_

"MEDIC, MEDIC PLEASE"

First Aid hears the cries as he leans harder on the neck assembly of the mech he's already working on. 

So many wounds and never enough medic to go around.

Energon seeps through his fingers and the color burns his optics. 

The mech that screamed had just been shot in the leg. 

He could save them.

Leave the mech to die and save the one with a leg injury

Why does he have to play Primus? Who is he to decide who lives or dies?

First Aid wanted to go home. 

"What are you doing, where are you going? HEY–"

Blaster fire nearly clipped his helm as he crawled to the mech with the leg injury.

First aid tried to ignore the pleas from his previous 'patient'.

"Hey, I'm gonna fix you right up, names First Aid, "

"I DON'T GIVE A SLAG JUST MAKE IT STOP–" 

A weld here and a compression patch there–

–smile to make it seem like they have a chance of making it past the next four cycles.

First Aid liked to think he was good at smiling without a mouth.

Medics are good at pretty lies 

"Please come back," the neck injury pleaded.

Prioritize those who can get back into the fight. 

Follow your instructions.

That's all you have to do.

First Aid is just following orders.

Energon could be heard gurgling out of the mech behind him.

It was hard to ignore. 

Not when the soft fizz of a spark going out was among the thrum.

The leg is salvageable.

Mostly.

"Hey, hey, thanks, thank you," 

The mech below him grabs his shoulder and looks at him like he's doing more than sending him back to his death. 

Don’t think about it. 

One last weld.

Just a little longer. There done, time to move on. Always keep moving.

It's funny you know? The brand on the mech's shoulder wasn't red.

Oh, and that was a blaster huh. Doesn't matter much. He would have gotten shot anyway.

Primus that burns–

The sky is nice. 

Energon is warm, burning warm. 

First Aid wants to go home.

It's nice to think about being from someplace like Praxus or Polyhex. First Aid of Hexel instead of First Aid of Forge 174.

He was forged during the war.

There were no cities left to be from.

_Servos erupted from the ground_

_gripping and tearing and clawing_

_small fingers pry his plating from his protoform_

_It comes off in chunks, pieces of the mesh being stretched between him and his now torn off plates_

_First Aid knew who they where_

_Everyone who he'd failed to save_

_Red Light, BlackWheel, Wildcharge, Axel._

_and so so many more._

_He accepted his fate._

_It's was he deserved_

_They would still be alive if he was better at the one thing he was made for._

_Didn't make it any less terrifying as they dragged him to the Pit._

  
  


Like fragile tiny shells

Drifting in the foam

  
  


First Aid awoke with a scream at his desk in the medical wing on the Lost Light. 

Ratchet startled at the cry, all his sensors bursting to life looking for the potential injury. 

The young bot had fallen out of his desk onto his knees. Fans roared as they tried to cool down his overheated frame. Condensation drips onto the floor. everything was too much. The surge was a memory but warped. Twisted. not quite right. He still remembers that mega-cycle.

Any input from his sensors felt like someone slitting open his helm. NoStop– EverythingPleaseStop– They were still on his plating, pulling and peeling–

"Easy kid, You're on the Lost Light,"

Wha- 

Ratchet.

The LL.

Right

Not a burning battlefield in lower Yuss. Someone tell his processor that.

A solid servo on his back, different from the pulling and peeling phantom ones. Real and firm. Grounding.

Ratchet led him to one of the cots. Wasn't the first time Ratchet helped someone with a bad recharge surge, and in a ship full of veterans, it won't be the last either. 

First Aid shuttered his optics a few times.

It helped. Some. Ok, not much, but it was better than nothing.

The medbay was quiet, and Ratchet was kind.

That helped the most. 

"How do you deal with it? The ones that you couldn't save, or chose not to."

It was Ratchet's turn to shutter his optics.

He took First Aid's servo in his and lifted it to optic level.

"Our servos are our lives. Take better care of yours,"

Oh, what?

Was that supposed to make him feel better?

"You do whatever your servos allow you to, nothing more. You're not Primus. I can't give you a good answer, not when I haven't found one myself."

_oh._

_okay._

It's easy to forget the Mighty Ratchet is still just a mech. 

He was the Prime's handpicked medic and, well…

HE'S RATCHET.

He's the medic every medical class mech dreams of being or meeting or being in the same room with. 

"The war is over kid. come home, you don't have to make those decisions anymore, or at least not on your own. Go to Swerve's or something. I doubt you want to recharge anymore."

Little soldier boy

Come marching home

Swerve's was a nice distraction from his memory-nightmare.

The energon was always good but cheap. 

One or two friends always floated around.

It was extra nice today because Whirl was gone and that drastically decreased the chance of any fights breaking out.

_"Come home."_

Where was home?

Not Cybertron.

_Certainly not Delphi._

What did Ratchet mean by "come home"? Was every old mech this cryptic? First Aid hoped not. 

_Oh, nice timing._

Ratchet walked in with his servos in Drift's, the multi-colored lights standing out on their white paint nicely. 

Who upon seeing Rodimus at the bar kissed Ratchet on the cheek and walked over to his Amica.

They were cute together, anyone would admit that.

Maybe he should try finding someone to court. 

That would be forcing it, though.

_Hmmmm._

It would be nice to have someone to snuggle with.

A cup of energon is placed in front of him, breaking the daydream.

"Oh! hi Ratchet,"

The mech nodded at him and looked pointedly at the booth, asking to sit with him.

First Aid motioned for him to join.

_Let the awkward silence commence._

"How are you doing after that surge?"

or cut to the chase that also works

"Better or trying to be better,"

Ratchet made an infuriating, noncommittal humming sound. That’s right, old mechs _like_ being cryptic.

"Shanix for your thoughts?" He said while leaning back, stretching his spinal strut. 

The question burst out of First Aid before he could even think about thinking before he spoke.

"What did you mean when you said come home? It’s in my file that I was war forged."

War forged. A little term for those who were forged during the war rather than cold constricted.

A bridge between those forged during times of plenty and those cold constructed during the height of the conflict.

The _utter_ middle ground.

Knowing both times when energon flowed freely and those when you were lucky to get even half a tank, all while never quite fitting in with either generation. 

"You were lost in a war surge. Was just trying to get you to calm down. Don't read too much into it. I'm not a complex mech,"

"Drift would say different."

"Drift's a Spectralist, he thinks _everyone's_ a complex mech, even Riptide,"

He had a point…..

Riptide was great. Great, but dumb as rust.

First Aid looked over to the bar and nursed on his high grade. 

Rodimus and Drift teased each other, gently pushing and leaning in close to giggle at something.

When they saw him, both gave a big grin and waved him over.

His proud captain was _very_ clearly drunk.

"You– YOU First Aid, are-are a **first** grade medic. G'het it?? FIRST? HA!"

He pushed another glass of whatever intoxicating substance he was drinking into his servos. 

First Aid chuckled, opened his intake hatch, drank the offered liquid, and immediately regretted it. Primus that BURNED.

Rodimus was crazy for drinking this and Swerve was crazier for serving it. 

"OH JEEZ, sorry, Aid, I like my drinks strong. Burn off all the good stuff if 's not."

Right, Outliers.

Crazy incredible Outliers. 

Drift gave him a sympathetic look while sliding over his glass of pure energon. 

That glass was readily accepted and gladly chugged. 

"You're a good mech, Aid," Rodimus slurred, voice muffled from being pressed face-plate down into the bar. 

"Thanks captain," First Aid eased Rodimus' helm to the side with one servo so at least his mouth was exposed. 

First Aid went to go back and sit with a Ratchet who looked very amused even from across the bar. 

On the way back, he passed Cyclonus, who was engrossed in whatever story Tailgate was telling, _animatedly,_ complete with sound effects and arm waving, but still gave him a respectful nod when he waved hello. Tailgate on the other servo, waved enthusiastically. 

Nautica and Skids were reading over some data pad at a table he passed by.

"First Aid!" Nautica waved hello and smiled

He didn't even know she knew his name. He only knew the Camien through the med-bay. She was a talented scientist, apparently. Good dancer too, if the rumor mill was to be believed. 

"Of course I know your name, you're part of the crew after all." Her smile was warm as she spoke. 

Oh, he said that out loud, didn't he.

Must be Rodimus' drink that he tried.

Was he really that bad at holding his drink?

Skids locks him in a helm lock and gives him a noogie.

First aid laughs while swatting at his servos. He wasn't a sparkling, but this was what he imagined it was like to have a carer.

To have a family. 

Skids releases him after a smack from Nautica, and waves him off.

Finally, _finally,_ he sat down next to Ratchet again; who gave a soft smile and pats at his arm. 

After one too many glasses of high grade, Nautica shooed him off to his habsuite. Drinking wasn't his normal MO, but it still made him happy once in a while, as a treat.

Happy, except for the processor stress he's inevitably going to have to deal with in the day-cycle. 

That's a problem for Future First Aid to deal with.

He didn't have a Conjunx, but his berth always greeted him with open arms.

_"MEDIC, MEDIC PLEASE"_

_Why does he have to play Primus?_

_"Hey, I'm gonna fix you right up, names First Aid, "_

_Smile to make it seem like they have a chance of making it past the next four cycles._

_"Please come back,"_

_the soft fizz of a spark going out_

_looks at him like he's doing more than sending back to his death._

_The brand on the mech's shoulder wasn't red_

_First Aid wants to go home_

_There were no cities left to be from._

_They would still be alive if he was better at the one thing he was made for._

"--Aid! Wake up- woah it's me Velocity," 

First Aid swung out wildly at whoever– Velocity– was shaking him out of recharge. 

His optics flare in the dark room, at the surge. Same one as last night, same one as every night. Why couldn’t the ghosts leave him alone?

Velocity rubs his back as he curls into a ball, pulling his knees to chassis.

Erratic vents fill silence.

"1,2,3,4,5…" Velocity counted out. With each number, the vents slow down; evening out. 

First Aid peeks out from his ball to look at his fellow medic. 

Velocity smiles at him the same way Nautica did, warm and soft. 

Not the worst thing to come out of a panic attack to. 

It'd be nice to skip the panic attack all together though.

"Hey, you up for a walk?" Velocity slides First Aid out of bed and onto his pedes. 

The floor gave a soft clang against his pedes as he slowly got out of bed. The door felt too far away, like crossing a massive crevasse. Velocity tucked herself under his arm; a solid mass in a sea of fuzz.

Step after step, one at a time. That's all it is. 

The world starts to focus through the fog. His crystal light, and medical journals, the constant slight smell of smoke that comes from being above the scientific labs, the soft buzz of the quantum engines. Velocity smiles at him again and slowly moves out from under his arm, sensing that all was starting to settle into place 

Gesturing to follow, Velocity walks from his side to out in the hall. 

Even in the middle of the night-cycle, the Lost Light was still bustling with energy. Mechs move like a lazy current, some still half in recharge.

The rights and lefts become suspicious, their path familiar.

It was the way to Swerve's

The bar owner in question was nowhere in sight, but it was still open. 

“Open”, as in the lights were on but the neon sign was off.

All the tables had pushed to one side and scattered around the room was a tired-looking Rodimus, Cyclonus, Mirage, and Brainstorm. A cube of energon was being passed around.

"Lottie! Oh First Aid, hey, welcome to the _"We want to rip out our processors because of Night Surges"_ club."

Rodimus waves his hand in a sweeping gesture at everyone. They all give a half sparked wave. 

"None of us can recharge because of night surges so we all just come here and talk about it. Or not talk, if you're Rodimus," That earned Mirage a gesture that First Aid didn't understand from their captain. _(Co-captain)_

The closest spot glared at him from next to Brainstorm

Looks like that's his seat.

Everyone sat in a silence that wasn't _tense,_ but wasn't _not_ tense. Quiet, not because no one had anything to say, rather no one wanted to break the fragile calm.

It all felt too strange. Like some secret society meeting instead of a bunch of tired traumatized mechs talking together.

Guess it is a meeting, even if it's neither a secret nor a society. 

The cube was passed to Brainstorm by Rodimus, who began his story.

"Same one as always. My engines fail and I'm adrift in the void for almost a mega-cycle, before any autobot ship can come get me. Just endless silence going on and on and _fragging on._ No matter how much I scream, no one there to hear. I scream till my voice box shatters and I can feel the shards in my throat," Brainstorm places his servo on his neck. "Stars are always pretty, I guess," 

Primus, that had to be awful, and Brainstorm had said "same one as always". He had that surge every night? Every night having to experience drifting in the void. 

He takes a big drink from the cube, then passes it on to Mirage. Who places a slight kiss on Brainstorm' servos. Chaste and quick. First Aid didn't understand what that meant, but explaining yourself was the last thing you had to do here.

"New one tonight. Hound and I are on a stealth mission, you know the one over by Helix? My indivisibility fails, and they find me. Well, Decepticons will be Decepticons. Did you know protoform can melt? I can never get the feeling of Hound's protoform out of my servos. Trust me, I've tried." Mirage gave a sad smile and swirled around the energon before drinking, and handing it to Cyclonus. The metal in First Aid's servos creak at the decepticon comment. It was unfair to 'Cons; they weren't all bad. Just like all Autobots aren't good. The war was over, but mentalities like these risk starting it again.

"I was on the Arc, the first one. Galvatron was there. He looked healthy."

Cyclonus passed the bottle to First Aid. 

Everyone else was telling their surges. 

"Uh."

First Aid fiddled with the chipping paint on his servos. 

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Know what? I'll go first."

Rodimus gets up with a grunt and plucks a bottle of high grade from behind the bar, unscrews the cap and takes a large swig. The metal makes a large clang when he ungracefully sits back down. He's hunched over the bottle of high grade and holding it by the neck.

"I'm in Nyon and the city is burning. My plates melt and my processor is warping, and I'm happy. I destroyed Nyon, set off the explosives. I should have fallen with her. I wish I had. Then I wouldn't be living on time paid by the dead." Rodimus looks up and gives a small shrug, before taking another tired drink. "It's not a dream. I hear Nyon screaming every time I close my optics." 

His voice lacks any of the cheer or anger he's always associated with Rodimus. He was bitter, sad. 

Everyone's faces had warped into expressions of disbelief. Whether it was for admitting he was the one who pulled the trigger at Nyon or if it was the fact he talked at all was unclear. 

Velocity had that kind of horror on her face that all the Camiens seemed to have whenever they heard about the war.

Widening of the optics, servo over the mouth, a look in their face like they couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Most Camiens First Aid talked to didn’t believe.

If they acknowledged that cybertronian could be so cruel, then they accepted Camiens also had the potential for inflicting that much pain. 

Better to push the unsettling reality away. 

Brainstorm looked... The most tired. Resigned. Used to the awful things. Wings drooping.

Mirage had pressed a servo over his mouth, optics almost fever bright. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything.

Cyclonus... Just looks sad.

He looks sad.

Like he can't believe what Rodimus just said.

Can't understand the truth of it.

It looks a little like grief.

Cyclonus had probably been to Nyon during the golden age, before... Before everything.

First Aid forgets how old he is sometimes.

How much he's lost.

How much they've all lost.

Don’t think about the Gestalt

Don't think about Ambulon

First Aid stared down at the bottle in servos. It was just a bottle. Nothing too scary. No fancy label, just a serial number marked on it. 

He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to.

Nothing he said could be worse than admitting to destroying an entire city.

"I- Um, I'm at the battle of Mono, you know the city in Yuss? And I had to– to stop operating on someone, to patch up someone who has a better chance of survival. That's what they tell you. Prioritize those who will make it pass the next four cycles. It turned out to be a Decepticon. I, uh, I didn't notice the badge. He shot me. That part is pretty accurate. Then–

"Then– I– I don't want to talk about the last part." 

First Aid takes a big drink from the bottle. It tastes like cowardice. He couldn't even finish when everyone else laid their sparks bare. 

Velocity places a hand on his shoulder with a face twisted into sympathy. Or pity. Does it matter? He had gotten plenty of both. Doesn't need anymore either.

Everyone else looks at him with a tired empathy only soldiers can give. 

An acceptance. 

Welcome to the "We want to rip out our processors because of Night Surges" club.

"I've got to open up Visages," Mirage gets up and gives First Aid a pat on the shoulder on his way out, never once looking at him.

Brainstorm and Velocity file out as well. 

Velocity talking in a hushed tone to someone on coms. 

Brainstorm was tapping away on a data pad. 

A glimpse shows he was typing out digits of Pi. 

Thinking about Pi must be easier than acknowledging whatever he’s dragged up in his processor. 

First Aid did the same thing with anatomy. 

Tailgate gently pulls Cyclonus out while making 3 kliks of optic contact before leaving. 

When did he get there? 

Just First Aid and Rodimus now.

The five feet between them felt like fifty. Silence sticks to them like tar.

"Did you really detonate the bombs at Nyon?"

WHAT THE FRAG. WHY DID HE ASK THAT? First Aid's optics flare in embarrassment. He braces for the anger and admonishment. 

It never comes.

"Yeah, I did. You can ask Optimus if you don't believe me, and Aid? Move on. The war is over."

He looks at the ceiling like he’s trying to find answers. As if something in the cracks and dents will tell him how to forgive himself

Dust particles flit through the air in the light of a passing nebula.

"Come back if you ever need to, I'll always be here if no one else is."

Rodimus places his forehelm against First Aid's. The touch is light.

"Thank you for sharing."

"Of course Aid, you're family."

The war was over.

Time to come home

  
  
  
  


_Brave soldier boy_

_Comes marching home_

  
  


First Aid logs into the ship's records. 

>Change record for First Aid?

<yes 

>First Aid of Forge 174

>First Aid

>First Aid of the Lost Light  
  


>CONFIRM?

<yes

  
  



End file.
